But She Never Loved Me
by Sarabibliomania
Summary: He knew she never loved him. He was not her knight in shining armour. Her King or even her prince. He was too cold. Too ambitious. Too hard. Too easily angered. Too demanding. Too harsh. But he loved her.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

This is a short AU piece that I wrote based on a fan fiction I want to publish here. It's Edward Seymour and a character that I created and who I alone own.

He knew she never loved him.

He was not her knight in shining armour. Her King or even her prince. He was too cold. Too ambitious. Too hard. Too easily angered. Too demanding. Too harsh.

But he loved her.

It wasn't one of those loves written in a ballad or a poem, told across the centuries until the details marred and you were only left with legend and myth. Those loves were too fantastical. They were not real.

He loved her real.

It wasn't one of those loves that happened in a moment. A thousand loves and life's broken into seconds and a rush of stars collided. It was a love that made him watch her movements as she made them, made him tighten his fingers around her waist as they danced, trail his fingers down her neck as they danced.

But she never loved him.

She married him as it was her duty. An alliance between their two families cemented on a marriage between a woman who loved her husband too little and a man who loved his wife too much.

She never loved him.

She never said that she didn't but he knew. Felt it in the coldness of her lips when he kissed her, the hollowness of her eyes when he made love to her, the emptiness in her words when she whispered his name:

Husband.

And he would reply in more broken worth, more ached love that burned in his stomach like a fire that would never go out.

Wife.

He didn't force her to love him. How could he when her heart was so dead set against it. But he tried to encourage it. Bring it forth like the sun's rays coaxed in the morning to touch the coldness of the earth and set it alight.

He would leave a flower on her pillow when he woke before her, her hair swept over the cloth and her eyelashes fluttering as she slept. He would have her favourite delicacies shipped in from the Coast and France despite the extra cost and have them set before her when they dined. He would press his lips to her temple and run his fingers over her swollen stomach bearing his child and mummer how beautiful she was. And with each attempt he would wait, hovered for a moment to hear how she would reply, half hoping that she would speak in some sign of affection that he had somehow managed to ignite. 

Thank you, husband.

No warmth. No affection. No love.

Thank you, husband.

She could love. He knew she was capable of it. She loved her servants, spoke to them kindly and never raised her voice when they made a mistake or a flaw. She loved her family, ran her fingers carefully over the letters she sent them and clung to them when her permitted that they visit. She loved their children, picked up her skirts and ran to them when he brought them to court and fell to her knees to clutch them in tears as she buried her face in their hair.

She just wasn't capable of loving him.

He feared she loved another. That the reason that she could not give her heart to him was that it was not hers to give. He heard the lightness in her voice when Charles Brandon dined in her chambers; the firelight carved and danced along her neck like lace had fluttered along the curve. Saw the warmed deepness to her eyes when she walked with Thomas Cromwell, her hand on his arm and a smile touched to her lips like the world were gone and only the two of them lived and breathed.

It was the first time he had ever really hated a man. Had worked to see his downfall.

It was his love for her, his jealousy and his hatred burned and twisted until he was no longer human. A burn and a thought of raw emotion that crumbled inside him until the axe repeatedly fell upon his neck and he fell into an ash of his own creation.

She didn't speak to him for months.

He didn't force her to. Didn't even visit her bed or try and press a kiss to her lips. Just a brush to her forehead and a murmur of "Good night wife."

She didn't even look at him.

He still left the flower on her pillow. Still ordered the delicacies. Still murmured that she was beautiful as she sat before her vanity with her hair fallen over her shoulders, his voice a whisper so not to break the spell that seemed to smoother him when he looked at her.

Thank you, husband.

She became to forgive him as the time passed. Never said so in words but in time her words became less broken in frozen silences, her eyes again briefly raised to meet his with the emptiness of affection still hardened, her fingers more carefully pressed to his waist as they danced.

It wasn't love. Wasn't even a glimpse. But he took it. Held it between his fingers like heated coal with their burn darkening and disfiguring his hands until they lay shrivelled and broken.

But he wouldn't let go.

He came to her bed one night, his dress shirt loose over one shoulder and the coldness of winter pressed along his skin. She sat before her vanity and swept the brush through her hair, their darkness spread across her shoulders like a waterfall burned rich across her skin. He froze for a moment, time suspended and all for a moment a lifetime of loves and legends crushed into his heart as she stood and turned to him, her eyes touched with bare concern.

I love you.

She stared at him for a moment, the emptiness of affection in her eyes for a moment softened and warmed. A liquid gold that traced themselves across frozen stone to turn their edges brilliant.

It was a hurt. An ache. A burn. A consumption.

It was him holding the coals in his hands and pressing their heat through the calluses until they fell ashen and gone away. But the look faded, the brilliance fell dull and the eternity to her eyes was gone in the ache and forever of a second.

Thank you, husband.


	2. Chapter 2

I did not except to write this. This was an alternate universe version of a fan fiction I have planned and after writing the first chapter I fell more and more in love with the story and the relationship so I wrote this. I have at least one more short piece planned for it that I hope to write but we'll see. Two things:

I haven't posted the "real" fan fiction yet but I have written 7 and a half chapters that I hope to post soon and I will explain the changes between the two universes when I do.

Second: It is late (2 am) and so I haven't edited it but I will do so tomorrow I just wanted this up. Enjoy!

"How are the prawns?"  
>She looks up at the question, the candlelight threaded through the curls fallen over her shoulders and making them glitter with flecks like burnt gold.<br>"They are wonderful. Thank you."  
>She scrapes her fork across the plate for another and chews it quietly, her eyes focused on the delicate array of dishes. I smile faintly and sip deeply from my glass with the rich taste of wine thick on my tongue and making the edges of my mind blur.<br>"They are very rich."  
>She adds the words as if to fill in the silence, eyes briefly raised to meet mine before returning to where they settled on the bronzed bowl of fruit.<br>"They are in season. Shipped directly from the Coast."  
>I press lightly on the words, hoping that she will take note of them. Pathetically hoping that she will notice the extra care I make to her. To make her happy. To give her everything she wants and more.<br>"Is that not expensive?"  
>She asks in confusion, her eyes raised and her eyebrows carefully raised to cast faded shadows across her cheeks.<br>"A little."  
>I admit it with a smile I poorly hide and glance over at her as it imprints into her mind the tiny detail of care. Pressing your thumb into the skin of a flower petal and watching it reshape to accommodate it.<br>"Thank you, husband."  
>My small fades. There are no warmth to her words. No affection. No love. Just simple facts broken between the kindness that never leaves her voice.<br>"Your welcome, wife."  
>She smiles in response and turns back to her plate, turning over a slice of apple with her fork.<br>"How is the King today?"  
>She asks with a trace of concern to outline her words, the candlelight now settled into her eyes to bronze them.<br>"He is ... broken. The loss of his much beloved wife has left him utterly shattered."  
>A grief I tried hard not to recognize surfaces beneath my words to ice them cold and I grip my fingers on the frame of my fork and knife, Jane's silent face and empty eyes still pressed through the back of my thoughts with an intensity that burned brighter when I tried not to think of it.<br>"He loved her."  
>She says it quietly. A fact with a warmth to comfort it. She loved Jane. She loved her as a friend, as a sister and he knew that Jane had loved her in return. She was good at loving. Just not me.<br>"I cannot imagine a worse Hell."  
>The works broke over my lips like chipping away at bone and she raised her eyes to mine, catching the raw break in my voice as if I were crumbling apart from the inside.<br>"Have you heard from our son, George?"  
>I clear my throat, the sting of the words still on my tongue and sip deeply from the glass with the burn reawakening my thoughts.<br>"I have. He sent a letter. He is now fluent in Latin as well as English and hopes that his tutor allows him to study French and Spanish next. He speaks of Jane and Catherine who are also improving in their studies and that they are spending more and more of their time outdoors as the weather allows."  
>There is a tenderness in her voice, a warmth and a longing briefly seems to paralyze her as she stares down at her plate, the reflection illuminating the crystallized edges of her tears that she will keep frozen until she has retired and thinks that I can no longer hear her.<br>"Perhaps soon I may send for them. And they may spend a day or two with us here at court."  
>She raises her eyes at the suggestion, a tear drop frozen on her eyelashes and holding them together. I dig my fingernails in my palm to keep from brushing it away as it falls and traces wetly down her cheek.<br>"I would very much like that."  
>I smile at the warmth in her voice though I know it is not directed towards me but hold at it anyways like the sparks it ignites in my chest doesn't burn over my skin.<br>"And what did you do to occupy yourself today?"  
>I run my fork over the edge of my knife with the sliver of light it causes to cut across my vision in a sudden blind.<br>"I went for a walk down by the fountain with Anne."  
>I nod, the casual mention of her servant by name one I was too used to now to be fazed by. She knew all their names. Their last names and where they were from, who their families were and minor details to their life that fleshed them out in such a way that she cared for each and every one individually and a whole.<br>"And then Charles Brandon came by."  
>I froze, the name gentle on her lips cold in the air and cutting through my thoughts with a hatred and burn of jealousy that for a moment blinded me.<br>"Did he now?"  
>I say the words carefully, concealing the sudden surge of anger in my voice and clenching the metal of the cutlery so it cut into my palms.<br>"Yes, I told him I would teach him how to play the harpsichord. He has a great desire to learn."  
>I nod, biting the inside of my lips with the bitter taste of blood broken on my tongue.<br>"And what if I would like to learn?"  
>The anger clips itself into my voice and sharpens it so her eyes darken at the corners in recognition of it.<br>"If you wish."  
>The kindness usually present in her voice fades to a near dullness as if she herself is angry at my anger, my jealousy. Takes note of it and challenges it with the undercurrent of strength always beneath her words and actions. The strength that went almost unnoticed, too subtle with the way she made eye contact with those higher and more powerful than her, hardened her words when she became angry with enough to hide it so they remained uncertain to whether or not she was challenging them. It made shivers run under his skin, press through his blood and every part of him ache with a love that he couldn't further take note of as if it went beyond what a mortal man could bear.<br>"And how is the baby?"  
>I softened my voice again, clearing my throat against the remaining burn of jealousy and anger still frozen on my tongue.<br>"He was restless today."  
>She smiled fondly at the words and lowered her eyes to her swollen stomach, the press of it almost against the table with the curve over the decorative fabric stretched widely. She placed a hand on the swell with her thumb creasing over the gold and blue swirl.<br>"Was he? And now?"  
>She raised her eyes again to mine, her fingers still creased over her stomach in a bone deep protection that the look in her eyes only touched upon.<br>"He's kicking."  
>I nodded, running my finger along the edge of my knife with a question burned on my tongue and so heavy I felt that it could smother me.<br>"May I feel?"  
>The question hung heavily in the air like it was suspended in silk and tearing at the edges to fray it and let it fall.<br>"You may."  
>I pushed myself back from the table, the screen of the legs loud against the wooden panels and the table cloth creased and softened in my palm. I walked over to where she sat, my steps making the catch of the firelight shatter through her curls and along the curve of her neck. My heart bit into my chest and she pulled herself away from the table's edge, her skirts rustled lowly and the legs of the chair softer to the wood. I carefully knelt next to her, my knee pressed to her hem and I shuffled back off of it. She took my hand and gently raised it to my stomach, skimming it across the swollen curve of it. My heart was racing in my chest and in my head; everything at the edges of my vision sparked with firelight and like the world around me was tensed to shatter. She froze my hand, her finger gently laced over mine and holding it there.<br>"There."  
>She barely whispered the word and I waited, tensed with my heart beginning to ache and hurt in my chest. Something pressed back against my palm, a movement or a kick that held against my hand with a delicate assurance run with a much more terrifying strength. A short laugh broke through my lips, the feel of my son strong and sudden beneath my fingers.<br>"Can you feel him?"  
>She asked the words tenderly, lit coals in my hands that teased to burn and yet held warm against my skin and buried deep into my chest. I nodded and gently laid my head to her stomach where I could feel the kick, the press of it still alive and strong against my cheek. She removed her fingers from mine and instead gently laid them on the back of my neck with the tips lightly entwined in my hair. I closed my eyes and she traced her fingers over my nape, the fine hairs curled there raised and tensed with the sense and alert of the intimacy of the moment. My son. Our son. My wife.<br>"My Lord ...?"  
>The words broke through my like ice and I raised my head, opening my eyes and the ice the words brought frozen inside me with a pressure that nearly broke me apart.<br>"What?"  
>The servant faltered at the doorway under the anger in my tone and Charlotte splayed her fingers along the curve of my neck in attempted calm.<br>"Yes, Henry?"  
>His eyes fell onto her, his fear softened under the kindness of her voice.<br>"My Lord Privy Seal is here to see you My Lady."  
>Her fingers fell from my neck, everything in her suddenly sparked alive with the glow still tensed and held to her skin. She stood in a flurry of skirts and quickly stepped to the door, the unmistaken shade of blush traced up in her neck and a smile cut to her lips. I also stood, my fingers dug into the decorative armrest of her chair and a hatred I held bearable inside me in a sudden rage and ferocity that bordered on madness. I walked over to the doorway, the servant –Henry – bowing quickly and turning away from me in near panicked steps. Lace curtains hung over the doorway and through them I saw the Lord Privy Seal raise her hand to his lips and gently kiss it, her eyes suddenly crystallized with happiness. He let her hand fall and held out a folded slip of fabric to her with the shape of a piece of jewellery hardened inside. She took it from him and opened it, the firelight catching off the jewels of it and glittering it in her hands. She smiled up at him, the words "thank you" visible on her lips but inaudible to my ears. He also smiled a rare sight for him and the look creased along his jaw and deeply set into his eyes with an affection I felt could rival my own. She tensed for a moment before glancing down at her stomach and asking him something that I couldn't read. He nodded and she took his hand and lightly pressed it to the curve of her stomach and held it there carefully. A catch ripped at my throat and I dug my fingers into my palm with the nails biting and broken into my skin and a hatred burned alive under my skin that I felt tip and burn me into the fall of madness.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Another chapter! Again it was not my intention to write this as in my official fan fiction these two characters aren't official together though I always liked them as a couple. I'm not sure how many more chapters I'll do but I have two more minor ones in mind but I warn you they will get more depressing as we go. This one gets a little more ... risqué shall we say so that is why I raised the rating to M. This is showing their wedding night. Questions? Suggestions? Feel free to message me I don't bite.

Also the song Give Me Love by Ed Sheeran in my mind fits them for this AU fanfiction while Frozen by Madonna fits them in the official fanfiction. Thanks again

I gently pushed open the door and she turned from where she stood by the fireplace, the light of the flames catching over her like lace pressed against her skin and tinting her gold. I swallowed hard and the door closed behind me with a soft click, my heart racing everywhere like a thousand heartbeats pulsed under my skin.  
>"Wife."<br>The word tasted strange on my tongue, sweet with an aftertaste that lingered hotly and made my head spin. She dropped into a faint curtsy that made the hem of her nightgown kiss the carpet.  
>"Husband."<br>She said it with no affection. No warmth. No love. It was a fact. I was now her husband and she was now my wife.  
>"May I have a servant fetch you something?"<br>It was a poor attempt on my part. A half broken press of words to try and bring her comfort, to rid the fears I could see danced behind her eyes as she tried not to glance at the bed and its implications.  
>"No, thank you."<br>She said the words quietly, her fingers fisted into the front of her nightgown and a curl falling over her shoulder and tracing a shadow along her collar bone. My heart began to feel raw in my chest, every part of me hurting and ached with the firelight still tracing over her and softening her every edge. She looked so young. Too young for me. Too young for this ...  
>"You look beautiful."<br>The words are shaped onto my lips and faded in the air before I could reclaim them. Already thought and spoken before I could claim them as my own. She barely smiles which makes the shadows across her cheeks tremble and skim faded and disappeared into her curls.  
>"Thank you, husband."<br>I carefully step towards her, every part of me pulsed and I can better see the details of her delicately carved and illuminated in the poor firelight. The tremble of her eyelashes across her cheek, the lace detail of her nightgown precariously hanging off her shoulder, the gentle curve of her breast through the fabric ... I froze in front of her, my heartbeat so loud and sudden in my ears that it blurred my vision to leave only her sharply lined, the only thing I still saw and still knew standing before me while everything else vanished.  
>"So beautiful ..."<br>I leaned forward carefully and brushed her lips with mine. She tensed somewhat but didn't pull away and I pressed deeper, still hesitant and cautious with her breath tinged my lips and swimming through my thoughts like a poison that slowly crumbled and broke me. She barely stepped closer, her fingers suddenly splayed against my elbow and shocking through my body like a thunderstorm tearing me apart. I could remember the first time I kissed her, when we were first betrothed and she pulled away with promises that we must wait until we were married. The moment when it felt like I was seeing her for the first time, every dulled detail suddenly so heart breakingly humane and wonderful and unbearable and I feel in love with her in a storm of thoughts and feelings and heartbeats that broke and remade me again. I carefully pulled away, my forehead barely touching hers and everything inside of me working too fast for me to keep up.  
>"Shall we to bed?"<br>The words are barely audible on my lips, murmured and almost lost in the air but she hears them. She barely nods and steps back from where I stand and turns to the bed, the shadows and light re-detailing the curve of her nightgown and the perfected curls hanging down her back. She steps up onto it and pulls back the quilt and adjusts herself so that she lays back against the pillows, her hair fallen over her shoulders and the linen. I stand frozen for a moment, sinking and drowning as I stare at her, the light and shadow so perfectly framed over her that she hovers between too real and too not of this world.  
>"Husband ...?"<br>Her words shatter whatever held me frozen and I walk over to the edge of the bed, the carpet beneath my feet muffling my footsteps and making them seem almost unearthly. I step up onto the mattress and shuffle around her so that I kneel at her feet, my hands frozen and carefully placed at her hem. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. My heart was deafening in my ears, my blood boiling and turning inside me and I couldn't move least I break whatever held this moment so together and so perfect. She carefully reached for her hem and started to slid it up her legs, over her knee and gathered at her thighs. The movement caused the shadows to sketch dark and lighter over her skin and shimmer like sunlight frozen crystallized in the waves of the Ocean. I ran my fingers carefully up her leg, ghosting my touch to not scare her, to not hurt her or make her feel like she couldn't pull away if she couldn't bear my touch. I feel her tremble and I press my lips against her knee, kissing and tasting her skin with the feel like a rain after an eternity of drought leaving me more alive than I had ever been.  
>"Do you consent?"<br>The words are barely audible, my lips tracing the skin of her knee in the shape and I raise my eyes to her, her own staring back at me and frozen to catch my gaze. I wait, every part of me aching on the brink to shatter, my fingers splayed against her leg and barely tracing shapes with no names along her skin. I will leave if she says no. I will curl into myself on the other side of the bed and let her sleep in peace, our marriage unconsummated if she says no. Lie to my mother and my father and my brother and my sister and the world if she says no. Never touch her skin or taste her lips or feel her move until she consents. And only then.  
>"Yes."<br>She whispers the words but they sound loud to me. Echoed through me and shattering whatever remained inside me whole that she found able to break with a simple word, touch or glance. I straighten myself, my fingers tracing down her leg and a shiver over her skin apparent under my barest touch. I tug at the collar of my night shirt and pull it over my head, goose bumps instantly pressed over my chest and the faint trace of muscles that outline my arms. I let it crumble next to me and I lower my hands to my hose and carefully unbutton it with my fingers trembling. I can't tell if it is fear or anticipation but it runs through me like a burn to in succession tense me and set me alight. I push my hose down my hips and crawl towards her so that I lay between her legs, my hands braced on either side of her and my nose barely grazed to hers. I lean down somewhat, my nose nuzzled against hers and kiss her gently. She presses back softly and I feel her hands run over my sides, her fingernails grazed to my ribs and I pull away panting, the heat of my blood boiled everywhere. She waits for me as I gasp, trying to calm my breathing and settle my thoughts which seem to blur and collide until they are one and I cannot read what it is.  
>"Husband ...?"<br>I raise my eyes to her, her own tinged with concern and her fingers still held at my sides barely touching me and yet every inch of me aware of their presence. I gently lift myself off her, her fingers falling from my sides and I gather her skirt higher and around her thighs. It collects around her hips in delicate layers while leaving her still covered to my eyes. I won't see her naked. Not until she consents. And only then. I reach down and carefully position myself, fingers trembling and I lean over her again, my hands curled into fists and braced at her hips. I raise my eyes again to her, waiting for her consent and ready to pull away at the slightest trace of doubt. She slowly nods and lays her hands upon my arms, her fingernails skimmed over a muscle and prepared to dig in at the slightest trace of pain.  
>"I'll be gentle."<br>I quietly promise her and push forward, any thought vanished and gone from my mind and replaced with the sudden and unbearable feel of being inside her. She gasped and dug her fingers into my skin, pink lines imprinted and visible against the candlelight and I freeze. Everything inside me begs me to move, clawing at me in desperation to move just an inch but I hold still trembling. Tears half form in her eyes and hang suspended on her eyelashes with the shattered candlelight and making them glitter. I hurt her. The thought breaks through me like a jagged dagger through my chest and I lean forward – my hips still frozen – and gently kiss her. Her breath is more rushed on my lips and I press my forehead against hers, my hair falling into my eyes and the tips of them already damp with sweat. She takes a trembling breath and lets it out carefully, her fingernails still lightly traced over my arms where I can see the pink scars already twisted over the skin. I close my eyes, counting numbers on my tongue to try and form something sharp and solid in my mind where everything feels too fluid and too hot like I could be consumed in it and drown.  
>"It's alright."<br>I open my eyes and find hers staring back, the soft consumption of them tinted in pain but set determined and encouraged with her eyelashes laced together with tears she hadn't quite shed. She smiles faintly and her fingers soothingly graze over my arm and the marks she had inflicted across my skin. I love her. I love her with my every fiber. My every breath. My every thought. I love her and I was hers.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: There will be one more post written after this. I love this couple and this story is AU to my official fanfiction and I hope that I can start posting it soon. For everyone who has read/favourite/reviewed (I'm looking at you you wonderful Redluna) thank you very much and I hope that you are willing to read the official one when I start posting it as many parts of this story make sense in that one. Thank you.

The door creaked open on its hinges and I turned to look up as she stepped through the jagged doorway, a guard behind her and pulling the rusted door shut with a screech of protest that sharpened in my ears. She stepped away from it carefully, her skirts rustled over the stone and her cloak pulled over her curls that fell hidden over her shoulders. I slowly stood, the poor light of the cell dulling everything and in contrast brightening her every edge and making it richer, deeper more beautiful in comparison to everything or anything God's light had ever touched.  
>"Wife."<br>My voice caught on it, broken and torn on my lips like a bloody blade lodged in my throat and risking my collapse and despair.  
>"Husband."<br>She curtseyed somewhat, the cloak pulling around her and catching at the small swell of her stomach. Only four months along. Our child. Our last.  
>"Please, sit."<br>I gesture her towards the bed with its frayed and dirtied blanket poorly pulled and tucked around its splintered edge. She walked over to it and gently sat, her skirts fanned out around her and rippled around her knees in the heaviness of fabric. The reality of where I was and what my punishment was settled in heavier when she was there. How far I had fallen. How hard I had worked to keep her condemned in any part of what I had been accused of. She looked around somewhat, taking in the grime coating the walls, the rusted bars over the window and finally turned to take me in. The stain of dirt and sweat coated to my shirt, my hair tangled and worn and the bones protruding under my skin.  
>"You look well."<br>It was a lie. It burned like a dying crisp in the air and on her tongue. I was not well. I did not look it nor feel it but my heart ached and twisted with the attempt she permitted.  
>"As do you."<br>She did. She was still healthy. Still beautiful. Always.  
>"Thank you."<br>She said it quietly; embarrassed by the gentle compliment as she always was when someone saw fit to pay her one. I smiled faintly, the unnatural feel of it tensed over my lips like they had forgotten what it felt to have one. What it felt for her to inspire one so easily and effortlessly.  
>"How are the children?"<br>She raises her eyes to me, the faded light from the window almost ethereal carved over her faced and caressed over her shoulders.  
>"They are well. My sister is taking good care of them. For the moment they know nothing."<br>I nod. Not until after it is done. Not after until I am executed and my head paraded on a pike for everyone to see and take heed of as a warning that the King is to be obeyed and not questioned. I swallow hard and taste bile in my throat, burned and rough on my tongue in a fear that I don't want to recognize. A realization of my own mortality. And my close call to its head.  
>"Good. I do not want them to worry."<br>I will never see them again. None of them. They are free and full and warm in the life of the living while I stand trembling in the world of shadows just on the edge of this world and the next. She nods and turns away from me, her eyes frozen on a puddle collected and shattered across the cobblestones with the murky surface poorly reflecting her face.  
>"I do not wish for you to worry either."<br>I say the words carefully, uncertain of their balance between question and demand. I can't remember how to speak to her. Not after all this time at staring at the rotted cell walls and running her memory through my thoughts like finest silk between my fingers, too ethereal to fully grasp and too close to assure myself it isn't real.  
>"Of course I worry. You are my husband."<br>She turns to look at me and I lower my eyes, the simplistic press behind her words not enough to satisfy me and any hope I had that she might fear for my life. She doesn't. I don't mean enough to her for that.  
>"Of course."<br>I cannot deny her that basic wifely concern. The fear of leaving her alone. Our children alone. Unprotected and uncertain in a world where the favors of a man or woman shift and shatter on the barest turn of the wheel or the command of a king. But she'll survive. Beneath all that kindness and innocence she has a strength and she will find a way to survive.  
>"I spoke to the King."<br>I raise my head, the dirtied strands of my hair falling into my eyes and briefly blurring everything's edge until only she stands poignant.  
>"The King?"<br>She turns to me, her curls disheveled under her hood and her eyes frozen on my face and their edges hardened in the strength that I so often saw breaking forth from her core and too easily misjudged and forgotten by others.  
>"Yes. To plead for your release."<br>My heart rate increased in my chest, the beats uneven and jagged in their pulse that made me feel like I was slowly bleeding to death on the inside.  
>"You did?"<br>I dare to ask the question, tease the possibility that I misheard her. She simply nods, surprised that I even had to ask the correction. I smile faintly though I know it is a loss cause. The King, my nephew, and those closest to him will not be swayed by the pleadings of the wife of a traitor. There are too many traitors. Too many wives. And yet to me in all the rest she stands out. After all these years, all these hours and moments hushed together in my personal reminder that alone she stands poignant. I reach for her hand, running my thumb over the back of it and the simplistic ring she wears that Jane made her and gently press my lips over her knuckle. My skin is so dirtied in comparison to hers, so rough and so broken while hers stands clean, softened and whole. A physical reminder that in all the years I love her that I never once came close to deserving her.  
>"You shouldn't have done that."<br>No matter how pure or kind her intentions it was not safe of her to do so. Not worthy of me for her to risk so much. She pulls her hand from mine and brushes it past my cheek and to entangle in my hair, holding it back from my face so I can see her eyes crystallized staring back at me. They are fierce. And they are angry.  
>"Of course I should have. I do not care what they say, what is testified you are innocent. All the lies, all the confessions, all the witnesses who lie through their teeth to your name you are innocent, Edward. And nothing can never convince me otherwise."<br>Her eyes stare back into mine angrier then I have ever seen them, her fingers dug into my hair and hours seeming to pass with me unable to drop her gaze.  
>"You called me Edward."<br>She blinks as if she had not realised, as if it did not matter. But it does. In all our years of marriage she had never once called me Edward. Had only called me Husband as if the name stripped me of any detail accept the basics of who I was and who we were. Husband. Wife.  
>"That is your name."<br>I grin. It is so innocent, so wonderful and so terrible that she replied so. That after all these years of refusing to say it the only reason to speak it now is that it is my name.  
>"It is, Charlotte."<br>Her own name is warm on my tongue, heat burned and folded through my throat and like pinpricks all over my body. How long since I had said it out loud. How often I whispered it to myself in the dead of night as the one last desperate attempt I had to hold out on madness.  
>"You called me Charlotte."<br>I can see the faintest trace of a grin at her lips, pressing into her cheeks and along her jaw so that her skin seems delicately painted with light that puts the cell and it's dank quarters to shame.  
>"That is your name."<br>We both laugh and it's so wonderful it hurts. We never had this. The teasing or flirtations that those in love shared. Just simple words and cold kisses that consumed me on one hand and left her untouched on the other. But we are not a normal love. I loved and love her enough for us both but we are not a normal love. But in this moment I do not care. I do not wish for a normal love. I do not want it. I want her and she cannot give me a normal love. So I do not take it.  
>"Time's almost up."<br>The guard yells through the rusted bars, his steely dark eyes glaring at us as he turns away with the torch light darkly illuminated down the back of his neck. She leans carefully to me and presses her temple to mine, the faint pulse their alert against my skin and in tender though that I am still alive to hear it.  
>"I will be there."<br>She does not have to explain further. We both know where she means. At the gallows. At the block where I will kneel before the crowd with my hands bound and the executioner standing above me with the axe ready and gripped in his hands. Where I will look for a face in the crowd to rest my eyes upon and find her standing, alone and strong amongst those that hate me as the blade comes down and I find darkness. I have relieved the moment enough in my dreams to pinpoint every possible detail. To know that any change in them will not bring me real comfort.  
>"If you wish."<br>I have no right to tell her otherwise. To deny her this basic wifely duty. She gently pulls back from where she rests to my cheek and I see her staring back at me and can almost see the little girl all those years ago introduced to me only as my betrothed. The look in her eyes when she pulled away from my kiss and I was forever lost and forever hers.  
>"Times up!"<br>I grit my teeth and turn to glare at the guard, the only source of defiance I have and she lets her fingers fall from my hair and stands. I stand after her, the poorly constructed bed creaks and she turns back to me, for a moment froze in an eternity of ever changing moments and yet this one forever mine. She hurriedly steps toward me and throws herself into my arms, her face buried against my chest. I cannot move for a moment, too unprepared for this sudden affection that I wasted precious seconds before I wrap my arms around her and constrict her to me with my face lost and buried in her hood and hair. Every moment I had strengthened myself, told myself to be strong, to be brave and not show her fear is gone and I cannot let her go. I cannot let her leave, cannot let her out of my sight my arms because then she will be gone and this will be the last moment that I can touch her and now life that no ordinary man can know.  
>"That's enough!"<br>The guard is yelling and I can hear his footsteps angry in the room but I cannot let her go. She is my wife and she is in my arms and no reason makes sense for me to have to let her go. She is jerked back from me as the guard grabs her arm and anger is heated in my blood at the thought that he saw fit to touch her. I step forward to hit him, to crush my fist into his stomach, his face when she breaks herself from his grasp and her lips are against mine. My mind is blank and I am a thirteen year old boy again, kissing my betrothed for the first time with the scent of Summer sweet on my tongue and no other thought but a selfish one that lets me know I can kiss her as she will one day be my wife. Her lips break from mine as the guard shoves her away and I stand breathless in the cell as she is forced from the room, her steps rushed to keep up with the guards and the door is slammed shut. I cannot move for a moment, the last seconds she was there too rushed and collided in my thoughts for me to break me apart. Except one. She is gone. The next time I see her will be when my head is on the block and the axe is achingly held above me. I slowly kneel onto the stool, my every bone ached and frozen in a hurt I cannot fathom and I bury my face in my hands.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Wow. Last entry. It's been a weird few weeks or so posting. I got more views for this story then I have for others that have been posted for months. Wow. But thank you I hope you enjoyed it. I never intended to write this but I did and I am glad I did because I always loved the two of them as a tragic "What if" couple. I want to post the other story just as soon as I did some editing and I hope you enjoy it as much as this one. Or more. Or not at all your choice.

Warning: This is depressing. More so then the other chapters. Enjoy

My feet weren't working properly. Every step I made, every shift of dirt or creak of wood underfoot was too awkward in my ears. Too unreal. Too not my own.  
>"Traitor! Off with his head! Long Live the King!"<br>The shouts are loud. They are jagged and broken, curled underneath my skin and shattering against my bones in the pure hatred behind them. I deserve the hatred. The yells and the curses against my name, against the damning of my soul. After all I had done. All I had in my heart and soul saw fit to commit. The crimes I had taken part in, the prices I had willingly paid.  
>"Get on with it! Spill his blood! Long Live the King!"<br>The steps end underneath me and I stumble somewhat on the scaffold, the wood splintered and worn with the stain of blood that still tinges its boards a deep red. All the men and women before me. All the innocents and the guilty. It does not matter when they kneel before the block. A saint or a sinner they are all human, all afraid when they kneel and murmur a prayer under their breath. I cautiously raise my eyes, the swarm of the crowd brokenly gathered together and yelling their curses hot in the chilled air.  
>"Long Live the King! Damn you to Hell! Off with his head!"<br>I dig my fingers into my dirt crusted sleeve and desperately search for her face. She said she would be here and I am torn by my desire for her to be safe at home and away from the curses and blood and my unbearable need to see her once more or lose whatever courage I had managed to hold trembled between my fingers. I suddenly see her and the sight of her almost brings me wretched to my knees. She is standing almost lost in the crowd, her face almost unseen by the large man in front of her but she is there. Against the dirt and the grim and the curses and the horror and all the ugliness that this world contains she stands resistant to it all. She smiles faintly and I try to return it but I cannot force it to my lips. I am crushed and broken and the only thing keeping me whole is the trace of smile to her lips, the beauty that even on my deathbed she can remain indifferent to the harshness of the world around her.  
>"I ask you all to pray for me."<br>My words are met with boos and more curses. I knew it was futile from the moment I formed the words trembled on my tongue but I had to say them. There was nothing else I could say. No words that could bring me comfort or ease my passage. Just the crowd of those who hated me and the woman I had loved with more fervour and care then an ordinary man could be fit to bear and yet someone I bore it. An ordinary man. In love with an extraordinary woman.  
>"If you shall not pray for me I plead with you that you pray for my children ..."<br>My children. My children whom I shall never see again. Hear them laugh or chatter to one another with never ending excitement, hear their footsteps crashing through the hallways or see their words scrawled throughout their letters. I never loved them like I should. Never took to heart the unconditional love they bore to me and that I should have returned. I loved them and love them still but I am not a man who can love proper. Who can look into the eyes of his daughter and tell her that she is beautiful and at the same time singlehandedly condemn himself to treason. I am too much a man I never wished to be, too little a man that my children and wife deserved.  
>"... And for my wife. Who carries within her no trace of sin or scandal. To whom the King she is forever loyal and loved. May He live long and prosperous."<br>My wife. The child she carries. The child I shall never meet. Another child that I shall not have the chance to do wrong. Too not love proper.  
>"I take my leave of this world and of you."<br>There is nothing else to be sad. Nothing else to be done. All my life I had made my way towards this block, to the crowd of those who hate me and the axe dripped of blood of all those I sent before me. My brother. Thomas. Shall I be reunited with him again? Be reminded of a time when were just children and friends before we became adults and thus enemies. When power was just a distant thought and the throne an unattainable dream we did not question or think twice on.  
>"Hurry up! Stain the axe with his blood."<br>I find her eyes again, lock myself in their gaze and all at once I am terrified. I am just a man. Just a husband. Just a father. Not a King. Not an Angel. Not God. And I am afraid. I know what awaits me on the other side and I am not ready to be confronted with it. For a lifetime of mistakes and crimes that now I cannot repent myself of. A small smile of encouragement is at her lips and I slowly kneel, the thud of my knee to the wood like a collision of my fear and courage as my other knee follows until I am knelt before the block.  
>"Finally! Traitor! May you rot in Hell!"<br>I brace my hands on either side of the block, the wear and tear of my skin with the dirt coated under my nails to blacken them. I take a deep breath and clench the splintered wood. I cannot make myself lean forward. Cannot make myself lean my head into the groove and now that this is the end. That it is over and I am lost. I am damned.  
>"May you burn! Traitor! Long Live the King."<br>I close my eyes and I can see a thousand moments. Hundreds of shattered pieces brokenly placed back together to create a life. To create a poor excuse of them that now is all I have left. A life and a love one which broke me and one which put me back together over and over again. The taste of her lips, the light play of her fingers over mine, the gentle weight of my newborn child in my arms, the soft scent of their hair, the power and corruption weighed on me when the crown was placed on my nephew's head, the knowledge that I stood behind him closest and most trusted to the throne and now damned because of it ... I force my head over the block and rest my neck into the groove. It fits perfectly. Like it was made for me. Reinforcing my belief that my entire life that I had been making my way towards the block and all along it stood here waiting for me.  
>"Hurry up its cold! Burn in Hell! May you Rot!"<br>I open my eyes and I search for her again in sudden panic. One more time. I have to see her face one more time. And she is there. Still where she stood, frozen in the crowd and the same sad, encouraging smile on her lips. A thousand moments collide together. They crash and burn and consume me in hundred of memories until I am but ash between my fingers and but a shell of a man that I had always been. A shell forced into action by greed and corruption and a love that broke and made me again and again.  
>"Get on it with it!"<br>I pry my fingers from the block and start to stretch them out before me. The silent command that I am ready. That I am willing to die. My arms seem to take forever before they are stretched to their limit. Out to my sides like wings but heavy and chilled like they weigh me down. I lock my eyes with her again as I hear the Executioner step closer with the axe in his hand, the weight of it creased into his fingers with its edges soon to be lined with blood. My blood. Her lips move but I cannot read what they say. What silent message she is trying to bear towards me. The whistle of the axe is broken in the air, a desperate memory cutting through my thoughts as my one last futile attempt on sanity. The first moment I pressed my lips to hers, when we were but children and she pulled away, when I was struck and I was gone and I was hers and never mine ... The axe falls and I can read her lips, the last words she can ever say to me. The last confession and tale that I shall ever hear or know.  
>I love you.<br>And I am gone.


End file.
